


Senses

by Tempestt



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-14
Updated: 2014-05-14
Packaged: 2018-01-24 17:31:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1613396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tempestt/pseuds/Tempestt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lydia conquers Peter one sense at a time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Senses

Senses

He knew her by scent before he ever saw her.

He stalked the boy through the shadows of the video store, fresh blood still pooling in his mouth.  The boy reeked of extra strength antiperspirant and the overpowering woodsy scent of Abercrombie Fierce cologne.

He pinned the boy’s legs beneath the heavy fall of commercial shelving.  Hamstringing his prey, before the attack.  He inhaled deeply, craving the scent of fear.  The soft wet tissues in his snout parsed subtler hints of desperation, inadequacy and self-loathing.  He snuffled longingly against the boy’s neck, seeking the warm hint of potential.  He desired pack – _family_ – to the point of despair.  Would this one survive the bite?  Instead of potential, he scented his dear, sweet nephew and the stink of wolf’s bane.  The boy was sick with it.  It was deep in his bloodstream, making him poisonous to the touch.

He snorted the scent out of his nostrils.  As he backed away a new scent invaded his senses.  Sex and lilac.  Sweet deliciousness that ignited a craving in his blood.  He wanted a bite.  A taste.  His gums ached acutely with need, his tongue lay heavy in his mouth with want.  There was potential there, but he wasn’t willing to nurture it to life.  It was a distraction from his purpose.  Revenge was more important than all the sweetness and light in the world.  He spat her out and raced away.

He knew her by sound next.  

Her piercing scream as burst through the window.  There was something in the shrill, discordant jangle that called to him.  Potential.  Promise.  Something hidden, waiting just for him.  He could be the spark to set her alight.  Remake her.  Reshape her.  Release her from mediocrity.

Then at the school.  Her strident, demanding tones, flaying the boy.  She was a queen surrounded by jesters.  Fiery, fierce.  Boadicea on her chariot.  She would crush those who opposed her beneath her ambition.  She deserved subjects to walk upon and a loyal king by her side.  A man strong enough to match her, not a boy bent on degrading her.

Then he got to hunt her.  Fuck, it was delicious.  Her scent spiced with fear.  Chasing her through the halls.  Her essence heavy on his tongue.  Scenting her as she stood on the other side of the door.  He thought she couldn’t be any more perfect, until he listened to her display of intelligence.  Stunning her teenage lackeys with her knowledge of chemistry.  Beauty, brains, ultimate perfection.

When he finally knew her by sight it was as he expected.  

She was beautiful.  Pale milk skin, full kissable lips, fiery hair swirling around her shoulders.  Tits that begged to sucked.  A tucked waist with flaring hips and shapely legs made for three inch stilettos.

She held herself like a queen.  Her cheeks hollowed, her lips pursed with disdain as she flung dresses at her newest lackey, the whey-faced boy who’d been at the hospital with his dear nephew.  He allowed himself a moment to drink all of her in.  Her scent, her sound, her countenance.  And when her essence was locked tight behind his breastbone he turned himself to the task at hand, seducing the dark-haired girl.  But his beta was clever and was able to whisk her away.  He always appreciated brains over brawn.  

He saw her again in a room full of writhing hormonal teenagers, clasped in the arms of one who wasn’t worthy.  But at least it wasn’t the coward, the one who reeked of fear and desperation.  The clever boy his dear nephew fancied was brave even if he was small.  Brave enough to face down an alpha.  Brave enough to bargain for his queen’s safety.  He would do – he would be a suitable knight to his queen.

Knowing her by touch was like touching living fire.

He hated fire.  Feared it.  It burned a man down to his core.  Burned out all thought and feeling.  Burned out everything he was until only a husk was left.  But she was something else entirely.  She burned him.  Past flesh and bone.  She ate through his senses and gnawed at his guts.  She seared his heart and flashed through his mind.  She ignited a spark inside the deep well that used to house his soul and for the first time in almost a decade he felt _something._ It wasn’t pretty and it wasn’t neat, but it was raw and hungry and begged to devour him.  

She was silk and satin.  Milk and honey.  Her skin soft and permeable.  So very breakable.  Her pulse thrumming just beneath her perfect fair skin, seducing him with its siren call.  She glided beneath his hands, writhed under his touch.  She pitched, and bucked and cried pretty little tears for him.  He buried his face in her neck and inhaled her lilac scent, fitting his hardened cock into the split of her heart shaped ass and rode her to the ground.  His hands bracketed her ribs and found the sweet spot just below the curve of her full breast, above the dip of her waist.  He felt her breath, her heat, her sweat and the craving growing in his blood since the moment he first scented her on the unworthy boy exploded in a protrusion of canines from his mouth.

Finally.  _Finally._ He knew her by taste and it was ecstasy.

Her blood was hot and thick.  It coated his mouth and gushed down his throat.  Never had there been a taste more exquisite.  Not the hot spurt of a roe on the run or the taste of the flesh of his enemy.  Not veal Marcella with merlot.  Not the finest caviar.  She was infinitely better.  She effervesced in his mouth like champagne.  Danced and sparkled and set his senses aflame.  If she was a craving in his blood before, she was now an addiction.  He’d rather cut off a limb, carve out his eyes, become deaf, blind and dumb before giving her up.  But he knew she wasn’t his to keep.  Or so he thought.

All five of his senses succumbed to her, but it wasn’t until he seeded himself into her mind that he fully understood how fully she claimed him.  His sixth sense, his mind, was the last to fall.

To know her mind was to _know_ her.

All of her ticks, her quirks and insincerities.  All her lies, deceits and clever subterfuges.  She wasn’t a woman to be underestimated.  Her machinations were diabolical.  Her intrigues ingenious.  She was inventive, inspired and utterly desirable in her deceptions.  And her _strength._ He knew real strength didn’t come from the flex of a bicep or the width of shoulders.  Real strength, real power came from the mind.  She was young and still learning, but she maneuvered gracefully through all of his challenges.  When her mind weakened she would retreat, regroup and attack with renewed energy and mental fortitude.  He tried to break her piece by piece, and just when he thought he found her keystone, the part of her that if yanked hard enough she was fly apart, she would reconstruct herself into something fresh and new and hide her weaknesses from his grasp.  She was indefatigable and undefeatable.  

Lydia Martin was an amazing woman and Peter Hale was cursed by all of his senses to love her in life and in death.   

 


End file.
